Cut
by secondmezzanine
Summary: Noah’s been left behind his whole life. His mother. His father. Any friend at the Army base growing up. So when Luke says he has to move on after their internship at WOAK is over, Noah isn’t sure he can let him go.


**Disclaimer:** Sadly, I own nothing.

**-x-  
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"_I know I gave you mixed signals, and confused you, and… and hurt you. But I never meant to do that."_

"Well, the good news is soon we don't have to keep doing this to each other anymore."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean after this internship project's over… so are we."

"We can't be friends?"

"Were we ever really friends?"

_Error. Error._

The beeping of his laptop jolts Noah out of his thoughts, still replaying the words he and Luke had said at the station over seven hours earlier. He looks at the clock. It's after midnight, and the conversation is still swirling in his head. _Pathetic. _

He's sitting at his desk in his one-room efficiency, trying to write. His laptop beeps again. _Error. Error._ He's too impatient to even investigate what the error is this time. The damn thing's been on the fritz since he moved to Oakdale, and with his first semester of college coming up, it should probably be replaced with a new one. Noah's not sentimental, though. He'll rescue a few files off the hard drive and dump it in the trash as soon as he has money for a new computer.

He's supposed to be writing an eight hundred word reflection on the impact his internship has made on his life, and all he's written is his name and the rank he's assigned himself. _Noah Mayer. First class screw-up._ Noah smirks at the screen and taps the delete key a few times, until all it reads is _Noah Mayer._

A dialogue box pops up again. _Error. Error._

"I know," he growls at the screen. He slams the lid shut.

_I mean after this internship project's over… so are we._ Luke's voice is swirling around his head again.

Noah shakes his head, reaches for a notebook. "Fine. I'll handwrite it." He grabs a pen and writes his name at the top. "Okay. Eight hundred words on my internship at WOAK. I can do this." _My internship experience has been— _he stops.

_We can't be friends?_

Were we ever really friends?

Noah groans and shakes his head. "Stop. Concentrate." He looks around his efficiency for a moment. He has three boxes, filled mostly with movies and winter clothing, piled in the corner, ready to be moved to his new apartment. He's lived all over the world, and it's true what they say, he thinks with a wry smile. Army brats learn to pack light. To leave things behind. To be left behind.

Noah looks down at his notebook and realizes he's made a long, jagged red mark with his pen, straight across the paper. It looks ugly, like a scar. He groans and rips the sheet out, balling it up and throwing it at his defective laptop.

_ I need to find someone who will choose me._

Doesn't Luke _ever_ shut up? Even when he's all alone, Luke's voice is still in his ear.

_I am so done, _he had said. _I have got to move on._

"That's it," Noah says aloud. He tosses the notebook on his desk and grabs his jacket. Luke had said he was staying late at the station to write his own internship reflection essay. Apparently his little sisters didn't make it easy for him to work at home. Looking around his barren, tiny room, Noah wonders what that world must be like. Where it isn't silence pressing in, but the voices of a family.

Noah speeds to the TV station, noting Luke's car in the parking lot. There are a couple of other cars there, probably the night janitors, but the station seems otherwise deserted. Noah swipes his ID card at the entrance and slips quickly inside. He heads for their office, his heart suddenly beating wildly, unsure what exactly he's going to say when he sees Luke, but knowing he wants to—he _has_ to see him. Right now.

The lights are all off, but the glow of computers and a few blinking TV screens provide a soft glow. Luke's sitting at the table with his back to him. Noah freezes for a moment and allows himself a moment to look at Luke, at the way he's leaning back with his legs stretched out far under the table, chewing on a pen cap, staring absently at the wall of videos.

"Luke." His voice is hoarse. He clears it, and runs a hand through his hair. _I should have come prepared. With something… anything… to say._

Error. Error.

Luke jumps and spins in his chair, knocking a folder to the floor. "Noah!" he gasps. "Jeez, you about gave me a heart attack."

Noah takes a few cautious steps into the darkened room. "I didn't mean to scare you."

"It's fine." Luke scrambles out of his chair and picks up the folder. "What… what are you doing here? It's late."

Noah can't quite meet his eye. "I know. I was trying to write that reflection essay, and I just… you know…"

"Inspiration wasn't striking?" Luke asks, a half-smile on his face. He runs a hand through his hair. It's messy but perfect. As usual. Noah finds himself staring, so he quickly turns his eyes to the video wall behind Luke.

"Right," he says. "Well… no. I mean, no, inspiration wasn't striking, but that's not why… I'm here."

Luke pauses. He puts his hands in his pockets. "Okay… why are you here, Noah?"

Their eyes meet then. Luke's eyes are cautious, even a little wary, like he's ready to brace himself against whatever Noah has to say. "So you're really doing it," Noah finds himself saying. He tries to smile. He can't. His chest feels funny. It's a familiar kind of feeling, but he can't think why."Really… moving on."

Luke swallows. "Moving on. From you, you mean."

"Yeah. From me."

Luke sighs, crosses his arms. "I meant what I said today."

Noah nods. He presses a hand to his chest, the feeling there expanding. It reminds him of something.

_Error. Error._

"I think you should go," Luke says. He puts a hand on the chair behind him.

The feeling in Noah's chest multiplies. He suddenly remembers what it reminds him of. It's the feeling he had when he and Luke first met. When Luke pushed him away every time Noah tried to help him, every time Noah smiled at him. It had always hurt a little, the way Luke cut him off. And this time it was for real.

"Yeah," Noah says, still rubbing his chest. "Yeah, but I just—Luke, I think we can be friends. I really think so. I know we've had some problems and everything, but come on, we can get past it. I could really use some—some friends in this town." _I could really use you, maybe._

"And what, exactly, makes you think we could be?" Luke lifts a hand in the air, questioning. "Really, what?" His voice is baffled, even a little concerned.

Noah shakes his head. He doesn't have an answer. He knows Luke is right, that the feelings between them, this electricity that seems to spark deep in his gut when their eyes lock, aren't really friendship at all. But he feels some kind of desperation, like things are slipping away the more he tries to hold on. "I don't—I just—" Noah winces.

For a moment Luke's expression softens. He tilts his head a little, examining Noah, biting his lip like he's trying to figure him out. Noah has always disliked it when Luke analyzes him, but this time he meets his eye. _Come on, Luke. Don't leave me behind now, after all this._ He ventures a small smile.

The chair Luke is pressing squeaks across the floor suddenly and the moment is lost. Luke tears his eyes away, turns to gather his things together. "I don't think so, Noah. Look, I'm sorry, but I told you before. You can't have it both ways. You can't have Maddie _and_ me."

Noah takes another step toward him, a little pissed off. "I don't want Maddie and you." He isn't sure exactly what he means by that, but it feels like the truth somehow.

Luke spins back around, raising his voice. "Well, you sure as hell don't just want me. And I want my life to start, Noah. I want to leave high school and straight guys and all this stuff that's just cutting me like a knife behind, okay? I just—I just want—" His voice cracks a little.

Noah stops short and looks at him. "Luke, I'm not trying to—"

"And you're a knife, Noah," Luke interrupts, his expression strained, like he's in pain. "You're like a fucking knife." He turns and grabs a stack of videos sitting on the table, then heads for the door to the video library. "Just please get out," he says softly, without a backwards glance.

Noah stands in the dark for a minute, feeling like Luke's just punched him hard in the stomach, like he's knocked the wind out of him. The door clicks shut behind Luke, and Noah feels something click inside him. He's been left behind by a lot of people—his mother, his father, any friend he ever made on the Army base, for one reason or another—but he wasn't supposed to be left behind by the one person who made him feel—made him feel like _home_—

_Error. Error._

He stands there in the glow of the electronic equipment and wants to throw something, wants to smash things apart because it's supposed to be Maddie who makes him feel like home, supposed to be someone who will stay, someone who doesn't tear him up inside, but it's Luke, fucking _Luke, _and it isn't fair and he can't let Luke get away with it.

Noah marches into the video library and slams the door behind him. "So after tonight we're done," he spits at Luke. "And it's that easy?"

Luke spins around, dropping a video case still in his hand. "Nothing's easy."

"But you'll do it anyway." Noah's breathing hard, his hands balled into fists at his side.

"I have to." Luke is clearly trying to keep calm. "So I will."

"So you'll just control your feelings. Just like that. And any impulses you have, you'll just ignore."

Luke narrows his eyes. "If my impulses hurt people, I guess I'd have to, wouldn't I?"

Noah knows they're both thinking of the same thing. "Look, I know I shouldn't have kissed you that day. I know I should have ignored the impulse. I apologized about that."

Luke shifts and anger flashes across his features. "And that's what you think I want? You think I want an apology? You think I want you to tell me you're sorry that you ever kissed me, that you ever felt something for me? You think that's what I _want_?" He hits the shelf behind him with his palm.

Noah just looks at him, swallowing hard.

"_Damn_ it, Noah. Is that what you think of me? Jesus. I—I told you how I felt about you. I forgave you when you tried to act like your kissing me was some big joke. I let you play out your jealousy when you saw me talking to that guy from class today. And now you're acting like I'm the one who wronged _you_? You really are a fucking wreck, aren't you? You really know how to mess with people."

Luke's eyes are flashing with anger, and all Noah can do is stand there, slack-jawed, and let the words wash over him. He wants Luke to shut up. He wants to spit the words back at him. He knows he deserves it all, he deserves every word, but Luke's cutting him up with the truth.

_Noah Mayer cuts people apart._

Maybe he deserves it, he thinks. He _is_ a fucking wreck, just like Luke said. No matter where he goes, no matter what he chases, it's wrong. His mother. His father's approval. Northwestern. Maddie. He chased that feeling that told him to kiss Luke, to touch him _now_, while he was standing there fixing Noah's tie. And nothing ended up right.

"Go on, then," Noah says through the ache. "Want to leave it all behind? Leave me behind?" _Everyone does. Go for it._

Luke's shaking his head sadly, the traces of anger gone, replaced with—god, was that pity? "Noah…"

_Error. Error._

Something sparks in Noah's chest and he wants to take back his spiteful words, wants to start all over and make Luke his best friend, wants to beg him not to leave him all alone. He's so tired of being alone. He has to tell Luke—has to _show_ him—has to convince him not to let him go. He doesn't know what it means, doesn't know what this means for him and Maddie, doesn't know on what planet he can call himself straight and still want to crash into Luke right now.

He doesn't care.

He's across the room in two seconds flat and has Luke in his arms twice as fast. His thoughts are flying. Luke freezes in his arms, and Noah doesn't care. He kisses Luke, softly at first, then harder when Luke half-sighs, half-moans against his mouth. _Inflict something on him. Bite him. Scar him. Make him remember. Make sure he won't forget. Make sure he won't leave you._ Noah reaches up and takes Luke's head in his hands, runs his fingers through the dark blonde waves. He deepens the kiss, pressing his body into Luke's, until Luke is smashed up against the shelf behind them. "Luke," Noah moans softly, hoping that will be enough.

Luke doesn't respond, just drops his arms back and clutches the shelf, eyes shut tight. Noah opens his eyes and runs his hands down the sides of Luke's face, drinking in those dusky lashes, the stray freckle on Luke's nose, the perfectly curved lips. God, he has to kiss him again. He does, testing every curve with his tongue, breathing softly between their mouths, letting his hands wander down to Luke's belt. Noah feels Luke's hand on his, and he's not sure if Luke is urging him on or pushing him away. _No. Make him remember you. Make sure he won't forget. _

Noah drops his mouth to Luke's shoulder, licking him, sucking the warm, soft skin there at his collar. He grazes his teeth along Luke's neck and bites softly. _Mark him. Yours. _It does the trick. Luke's hand goes slack, and Noah has his belt unhooked and Luke's fly down in record time. He bites at his shoulder, harder this time, and Luke sucks his breath in. "Noah," he whispers, a tinge of desperation in his voice.

Noah's heartbeat is out of control. _He's_ out of control, and he knows it, but he won't stop. A moment later Luke's pants and boxers are at his ankles, and Noah has Luke's cock in his hand, pulsating, hot, the first one besides his own he's ever touched and hard in his fingers. Noah clutches Luke's shoulder in one hand, and begins to jerk him off with the other. Luke is gasping for air, his hands clutching wildly at Noah. "Noah. Noah. _Shit, Noah—"_

Noah captures his mouth in another kiss, silencing him, letting Luke groan his name into his mouth instead. He swears he can feel Luke's voice vibrate all the way down his throat, and a second later he realizes that Luke has somehow undone his zipper and is reaching for him. "Come with me," Luke says between quick gasps.

_Error. Error._

Noah's brain is catching up with his sex drive.

But there's no error. He knows there isn't. He catches Luke's wrists in his hands and pushes them up behind Luke's head. Luke groans in protest, opening his eyes at him. Noah just looks down and adjusts himself. When he slides his own erection over Luke's, they both scramble at each other for a minute in the half-light of the video library, the shock of pleasure undoing them both. Luke struggles against Noah, trying to put his hands on them both, but Noah holds him back and strokes against him, torturing him a little. He spits on his hand and rubs it over their erections, sliding against sweat and pre-cum, reveling in the sparks of pleasure shooting from his cock to every cell in his body.

Then Noah is licking Luke's ear and Luke is grunting into his hair and Noah is whispering, "_Stay, stay, Luke, please stay_," knowing there's no way Luke can understand what he's saying at this moment. For a minute there's nothing but skin on skin, sensation on sensation, wet on wet, hot, hot.

"Going to—" Luke grunts hard in his ear and Noah feels the sticky wetness of Luke's orgasm on his hands and his cock, and he strokes his hand harder over them both. He digs his fingers into Luke's shoulder, bites down on his neck, hard enough to leave a mark, hard enough to bruise. Then his world explodes.

Black spots cloud his vision and he gulps air.

It's madness and ecstasy and Luke, everywhere.

Luke, Luke. Stay, please stay.

Then he's falling, maybe floating, back down to earth. He's breathing. He's awake. And he's trapped Luke hard against the shelf, pressing all of his weight into Luke's body, and they're wet and shaking. Noah tries to move. He has a hand on Luke's bare hip. He's never felt so terrified in his entire life. He can't speak. His heart might beat out of his chest if he does. _Oh, god. What did I just do? Have I gone completely…_

"Don't move," Luke breathes.

At the sound of Luke's voice, Noah clutches at his hip and tries to look at him, to see what his expression looks like, as if that might give him a clue what to do now that his entire world has rocked on the axis.

"I said don't move," Luke warns.

"Why?" Noah's voice cracks.

Luke is silent for a long time, long enough that Noah is aware of every breath between them, the way every part of them is still touching, drenched in each other. "Because," Luke finally says. "Because I'm might fall in love with you," he breathes, eyes shut. They open wide on Noah's face. "And I can't fall in love with you if this isn't—if this isn't real, Noah, if you're just acting on impulse or—god, Noah, say something."

Noah swallows hard, blinking away black spots, feeling the way they're both trembling in each other's arms. He moves his hand up Luke's hip and side, and touches—touches something.

"Noah, say something." Luke sounds scared now.

It's his scar, Noah realizes with a quick glance down at his hand. Luke's scar from his kidney transplant.

_Error. Error. _

A blade cut him open here, left a wide gash to heal. _He's not whole anymore. He wants to be whole again._

"Noah…"

_Noah Mayer is a knife._

"I can't do this." Noah says it hard, forcefully. He has to. His eyes move up to meet Luke's.

Luke's face, tinged with hopefulness just a moment ago, falls. He blinks. His eyes darken slightly.

Noah traces a finger down the scar that stretches over Luke's side, tenderly tracing the ridges. He looks back at Luke's crestfallen expression. "I can't do this to you," he chokes out. "I'm a knife. I'm a knife." Noah kisses him hard.

He doesn't cry anymore but this is as close as he's gotten since his friend Megan was killed in a car accident when they were eleven.

Luke doesn't react, but lets him kiss him, parts his lips slightly to let Noah move deeper into him. When Noah breaks away, he clutches at Luke. "I keep hurting you, and I can't promise I won't keeping doing it. You're right. We need to move on. God, I'm so sorry, Luke. I'm so sorry."

His jeans are up and fastened again and he's shaking. He's out the door a moment later, rifling in his pockets for the keys to his truck. He's halfway across the office when something hits him in the back. Noah whirls around, realizing Luke chucked a notebook at him.

"Stop right there, Mayer," Luke says. He's dressed, though his belt is hanging open. He comes toward Noah and glares at him. "So that's it? You're going to take my virginity and run off into the night? Back to your girlfriend? Fucking me up all over again? Because an apology isn't going to cover it this time."

In the dim light, Noah can actually see the bite marks on Luke's neck. _Mine. Don't go._ He has a mad impulse to rush into him again and inflict a few more wounds. He shakes the thought out of his head. "Don't you get it, Luke?" he cries. "I'm incapable of having a normal relationship. Don't get too close, because I can't get attached. I might cut you up inside. Mention love and all I get is an error message, okay?"

"I don't believe that," Luke fights back, breathing hard. "You're not so unique, Noah. You think we don't all want to head for the hills when we give a little piece of ourselves away? You think you're the only one who's afraid of getting hurt?"

"I'm not only afraid of getting hurt. I'm afraid of hurting you. You've had enough damage done to you already."

Luke laughs. He actually laughs. It catches Noah off guard. "Oh… Noah," he says, shaking his head. "Yes, I've had my share of hurt, okay? Both emotional and physical, whatever." He touches his side. "But it's pretty clear… it's clear you're pretty damaged yourself."

"So let's go back to the plan. Forget about me." Noah clenches his jaw.

Luke looks at him for a moment. Then he shakes his head. "Nope, sorry. You just made damn sure that's not going to happen. Isn't that what you wanted?"

They stare at each other for a full thirty seconds, each daring the other to look away. Noah doesn't know what to say. But looking at Luke makes him feel less achey, so he just looks, and looks, and looks.

_Isn't that what you wanted?_

Yes. No. Yes. He suddenly has the mad urge to laugh. "Can we be friends, then?"

Luke's mouth drops open. "_Friends_? After—after what we just—?"

Noah can't help it. He grins shyly. "So that's a no?"

Luke pauses when he realizes Noah is joking. Then he rolls his eyes a little and half-smiles, taking a few steps toward Noah, reaching out for his hand.

Slowly, their fingers twine together, tentative. Their skin is warm, smooth, molds together easily. _Not so very knife-like_, Noah thinks. "I don't want you to move on," he says softly, touching Luke's fingers.

Luke lets out a long, shaky breath.

"I'll try not to cut you," Noah says. His voice is trembling. He looks at Luke's face.

Luke lets out a small laugh. "I'll try not to bleed." Their eyes meet, searching.

Noah tries to calm his racing heart. He's scared, more than scared, petrified, even. But Luke is smiling and he feels like home. Noah squeezes his hand.

_Stay, stay, please stay._

~


End file.
